


Emotional Consequences

by lelliiethesnake



Series: Fake AH Crew shorts [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4674077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lelliiethesnake/pseuds/lelliiethesnake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan hated it when he got bad. And he got bad. It’s not possible for anyone to kill as many as he had without feeling the mental strain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emotional Consequences

Ryan hated it when he got bad. And he got bad. It’s not possible for anyone to kill as many as he had without feeling the mental strain and as time went on the episodes escalated. The feeling of isolation, knowing that to the world you’re a worthless monster, was one that Ryan had come to know well. But when it crawled inside his skin, all consuming, he found it hard to breathe. He drowned in it, feeling no matter how many times people talked to him that they were a million miles away, talking from the other side of the sea of isolation he felt stranded in the middle of. And on the days when it really got him down, pulling his stomach up into his throat and pumping through his veins until his muscles felt weak and shaking, oh those were the days when he admitted to himself he needed support to get through this and keep a shred of sanity.

It was a shame he didn’t feel he deserved it. 

The others seemed to cope okay with the weight of their, uh, lifestyles. Gavin had bad days, so did Ray, but they often took solace in each other. It wasn’t strange to find them curled up together on the sofa after jobs. Ray would play with Gavin’s hair and Gavin would trail lines up Ray’s arm as he thought. They’d lay draped over each other, waiting to come back into the real world and cease feeling like they were suffocating under the weight of their actions. Sometimes they’d talk; sometimes they’d be quiet for hours. Sometimes they’d just sit with a head on a shoulder and sometimes they’d sit kissing. Little reassuring touches.

The rest of the guys had fewer issues. Geoff and Michael tended to get more angry than sad, which was easier to solve with punch-bags or hard fucking. When they did get down a hug and a video game session would usually do the trick. Jack never killed needlessly, and her death count was half of the next highest number. She managed to ground herself and find a moral justification for her work, and overall kept it together. When she did get down she’d go pet her cat, needing the silence and isolation to sort herself out. That was how she worked.   
It wasn’t how Ryan worked. I mean yeah, he liked silence and isolation. And he needed it to decompress. But when that didn’t do it, when he was still feeling like drowning long after the blood had been washed away, that was when he needed someone to cling onto. He knew how the rest of the crew worked. He liked that they had a good system going and he didn’t know how to confess what more he needed. Nor did he feel he really deserved it, not after everything he’d done. He didn’t deserve to have a crew so close and dedicated let alone to start demanding affection from them. And it would have stayed that way forever, if not for a slip up.

Ryan got bad this time on the twenty-second of August. He felt it when he went down the store as a civilian, struggling to concentrate on his surroundings and having to have the poor cashier tell him three times that it was “Seven ninety-eight please sir” before the words sunk in. He eventually realised and threw a note at her with a rushed apology before grabbing the bag and leaving. He tried to focus on his surroundings as he quickly walked the block home but that just highlighted to him how little he was able to focus on. Getting back up to the penthouse he sighed and slipped into his room, ready to ride it out over the next 24 hours. They usually all slept together, but Ryan often retreated for privacy and took nights out for himself. It wouldn’t raise suspicion.

Except it didn’t stop after 24 hours. After 36 hours when he was sat staring at the ceiling at 1am knowing that sleep wouldn’t happen tonight it hit him that this might not be one he could hide. The guilt of putting this on the others tore through him, clawing to get out, and before he knew it Ryan was sobbing into his bed, gripping the covers tightly in frustration. The guilt, the anger, the pain built up came crashing to the forefront and the tears kept pouring. Wracking his body until he was exhausted and dehydrated and covered in a humiliating amount of snot. When he was done he felt hollow and numb, distanced from his surroundings and struggling to find something solid to hold onto. He might be lost in an ocean, but he had regained the ability to function on autopilot. And his body was telling him he was hungry and dehydrated. Ryan floated through to the kitchen about six am, getting himself a glass of water and hoping to slide back into obscurity before anyone got up. He stood in the dark room and looked out over the city via the wall of windows; slowly forcing himself to drink the water and breathe and resolutely not allowing the dark thoughts emerge that were eating away at the back of his mind.   
He almost drops the cup when he hears the sleepy “Ryan?” from across the room. He hates that the sickness of guilt rises up in his throat as he turns to see Geoff standing in his PJs and hoodie, tired but surprised to see Ryan standing there. 

“Hi Geoff.” He tries to keep is voice cheerful, but it cracks without having been used since he’d been sobbing. He winces a little and tries not to panic as Geoff’s face turns confused and concerned and he flicked on the light.

“Have you been crying?” Was the first question blurted out of Geoff’s mouth when the light stopped blinding him. Ryan’s eyes were still red and puffy and he looked sheepish and upset. 

“I, uh… yeah.” Ryan admitted. Before Geoff could respond the panic spurred his mouth to automatically deflect. “I’m alright Geoff honestly, I can handle it.”

“What’s wrong?” Geoff pressed on, coming up to him. Ryan shrank away from the pressure, aware that he wasn’t feeling very present with his surroundings, hoping that the automatic reply his brain would provide would be okay. It’d be out of his mouth before he could process its potential impact. It was always like that when he zoned out.

“I’m fine.” He replied, realising as the words tumbled out of his mouth that it was a blatant lie. Geoff has already brushed that sentiment aside once.

Geoff frowned. “Ryan, you’re clearly not okay.” 

Ryan didn’t reply. He couldn’t put into words, couldn’t vocalise, the sick twisted mass of feeling sat in his chest. He knew he needed to get the message across that he didn’t wanna talk about it and would instead appreciate some affection and support until he came back to himself. But the thought of trying to put that into words and communicate it sat in his throat and blocked it. It rose like vomit in his throat along with an actual sick feeling, sitting there and stopping him from saying a thing.

In the silence, Geoff began to understand. He changed his approach. 

“If you can’t voice this we can talk about it later. What do you need now?”

Not to cry over how kind you’re being was Ryan’s immediate mental thought. He might not be totally present but he knew saying that aloud would set the tears off again, and his brain provided alternate speech while he suppressed that. 

“I haven’t eaten.” He said. 

Geoff’s frown softened. “Well that I can do.” He gave Ryan a soft, encouraging smile. “Anything else you need? Want a hug?” It was semi-teasing, and Ryan’s reply was intended to do the same, but he couldn’t get the tone.

“I’ll be fine without a h-hug.” He said, but as the sentence progressed his voice broke down, until he choked out the last word in a sob. Shit. 

“Don’t be an asshole.” Geoff replied, affectionately and softly, as he walked up and wrapped his arms around Ryan in a hug. Ryan closed his eyes as Geoff’s arms encircled him and took a deep breath. He could feel the other man’s chest pressed against his, rising and falling with each breath, and he let the sensation ground him a little, clinging onto it as real.

Geoff let go before long and Ryan suppressed the urge to cry out for more. Geoff didn’t miss the sour look he couldn’t hide from his features though.

“You go sit on the sofa, I’ll whip up something delicious.” Geoff replied as he turned to the kitchen, pulling out his phone. He squinted through the phone brightness to send a message before opening the fridge and reaching for the bacon. 

Ryan sat on the sofa, curled up into himself a little as he watch Geoff cook. Before long he looked up to see a sleepy and dishevelled Gavin shuffling into the kitchen.

“’Summat about bacon?” He mashed out across the room at Geoff.

“In a bit.” Geoff replied. 

“I’m going to sleep then.” Gavin replied, before wandering over to the sofa and draping himself across it, and directly across Ryan’s lap.

Ryan just sat and watched with confusion as Gavin lay across him. He had the lad’s ribs across his knees as Gavin’s face planted into the cushions on the end of the sofa next to him. Gavin wasn’t usually this affectionate, but the warm comforting nature of the contact was desperately needed and so he wasn’t about to complain. He brought his hands to rest on Gavin’s back, and Gavin’s body curled around his slightly. 

Next into the room was Jack. She smiled and walked over to the sofa to join them, pushing Gavin’s body to slide in next to Ryan and put her head up against his shoulder. As Gavin squawked at being readjusted   
Ryan leaned into the contact, resting his head on the top of Jack’s and sliding his arm around her and across the back of the sofa, it was the most comfortable option.

Ray and Michael funnelled down soon after. Michael came in and forced himself onto the end of the sofa the other side of Jack, taking up any remaining room. Ray looked down at the cuddle pile on the sofa and planted himself on the floor, leant up against the front of the sofa and the side of Ryan’s legs.

Ryan shuffled a little as everyone curled in, feeling the warm sleepy atmosphere become contagious. He felt himself relaxing into the rise and fall of Jack’s chest pressed against his side, his face close enough to get the warm, coconut smell of her shampoo from her messy red hair. His hand on Gavin’s back rise and fell a little as the lad breathed, his warmth spreading as he curled round with his head almost next to Ryan’s hip. Gavin shuffled to readjust and let out a little sigh, with quiet grumbles coming from Jack and Michael. Ray provided warmth against the side of his leg. It was calm and sleepy and Ryan felt the emotion well up. 

He loves these idiots so much his chest hurt, and he tried not to cry as they grounded him and he was able to let his guard down and relax.

He was pretty sure Gavin and Michael were both fast asleep when Geoff called “Bacon!” from the kitchen, causing them all to just and begin to stir. Ray got up to go fetch his while Geoff came over carrying two plates. He stopped behind the sofa, behind Ryan, and passed his plate over his head. Ryan took it and twisted to look back up at Geoff.

“Thank you.” He said sincerely. 

“S’alright.” Geoff replied, before gripping Ryan’s shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. It hit the Vagabond then.

“Did you orchestrate this?” he asked, gesturing to the cuddle pile pulling itself up to standing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Geoff insisted, and Ryan felt a genuine smile tug at his lips. An hour ago that wouldn't have seemed possible.

“Thanks Geoff.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fascinated by the idea of a conciousness attached to the Fake AH Crew. It's my favourite thing to ponder at the moment. I'm also really preoccupied with the idea of Immortal Fake AH Crew where dying actually really hurts and tears you up, where they don't treat it lightly but are strained by it. Will I write it? Who knows. Watch this space


End file.
